


Wisdom of the Ages

by MiraMira



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of their final year at Hogwarts, every student has a chance to seek advice from the past headmasters' portraits.  Some receive more encouragement than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisdom of the Ages

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Hogwarts Elite contest

Seamus Finnegan emerged from the entrance to the Headmistress's office and nodded to his waiting housemate. "Your turn."

Neville picked himself up off the floor. "How was it?"

"It's a chat with a bunch of old headmasters' portraits, mate. What do you expect?" Seamus's tone was cheerful and irreverent as always, but Neville got the feeling he didn't want to talk too much about the experience, especially given the speed with which he raced off as Neville spoke the password the seventh years had been given to reopen the gargoyle and boarded the staircase.

The office was empty and silent, lit by the glow of the afternoon sun. Neville had only a split second to wonder if he should say something before every portrait in the room shifted in their frames to face him. "And who's this?" one of the witches asked.

Neville shrunk back a bit under their stares. Between Dumbledore's Army and the horde of people with questions about what it was like to wield Gryffindor's sword, he'd lost most of his shyness, but this was still unnerving. "I'm Neville—Neville Longbottom," he managed to stammer out.

"Longbottom, hey?" asked a wizard in medieval robes who bore a disturbing resemblance to Great-Uncle Algie. "One of my descendants, then. You'll be wanting advice on a career in Transfiguration, no doubt."

"No," said Neville, who was starting to feel the same anxiety in the pit of his stomach that Great-Uncle Algie always produced. "Herbology."

"Don't you start, Billebaut," another witch interrupted before the wizard had a chance to respond. "Herbology is a perfectly respectable specialization."

Billebaut snorted. "If you consider puttering about with weeds respectable."

"I'll have you know, those 'weeds' are…"

Neville left them to their quarrel. He'd spotted something more interesting on a shelf: the Sorting Hat, worse for wear since he'd donned it as a first year, but still prouder than any battered old hat had a right to be. Hesitantly, almost fearing it might burst into flames again, he reached out to touch the charred surface.

"You may put it on, if you wish," a familiar voice informed him. "Many students do. Though not many receive as definitive reassurance about their Sorting as you did the night of the battle against Lord Voldemort."

Neville retracted his hand and looked straight into a pair of twinkling blue eyes. "Hello, Professor."

Dumbledore's portrait smiled. "It is good to see you, Mr. Longbottom."

"Er…thank you."

The Headmaster's half-moon spectacles slid down his nose as he peered over them with a chuckle. "You sound surprised."

He was, for reasons he couldn't entirely articulate. "I…well, it's just…I mean, Harry…"

"Ah. Harry." Dumbledore's laughter turned sadder, before ceasing altogether. "You envy the attention I paid him in life, perhaps?"

"No!" Neville protested, silencing the other portraits' chatter for a second. "No," he repeated, at a more reasonable volume. "Harry was special. I understood that. We all did."

"But you were special as well, Neville," said Dumbledore, with a look that sent the same jolt of pride through Neville as when he'd been awarded those extra points during the House Cup ceremony first year. "More special than you realize. More than even _I_ realized. I confess that I am grateful I did not have the chance to come to know you as I did Harry, for I would not have wished the burdens that necessitated that closeness upon anyone. But I also owe an inexpressible debt of gratitude to those who were able to watch over you, and you my apologies for ever doubting that you might have been able to stand in his place."

Neville wasn't sure he understood. How could anyone have taken Harry's place? He had been the Chosen One, the hope and inspiration they had clung to even in the darkest moments. But Dumbledore looked and sounded so sincere. "Apology accepted, sir."

Dumbledore smiled again. "That is yet another rare and truly wonderful quality of yours you may not fully appreciate, Neville." His focus flickered to the side for a moment before returning. "Your unwillingness to hold a grudge."

Neville traced his gaze to the opposite wall, where the only empty frame in the room hung.

"Severus is, indeed, elsewhere," said Dumbledore, displaying his flesh and blood counterpart's mindreading abilities. "He felt you might not wish to see him."

Knowing Snape, Neville suspected the reverse to be true, but didn't feel like pressing the issue. "No, not really." A sigh escaped him. "I just wish I understood why he hated me so much."

Dumbledore gave a sigh of his own. "The details are not mine to divulge, but I suspect Voldemort's choice had a hand there, too." He shook his head in the direction of the frame. "It was not you he hated, but what might have been."

"I can't think of anything I might have done differently to be good at Potions," said Neville, confused again. Dumbledore's amused expression offered no further enlightenment. The statement did, however, remind him what he was supposed to be there for. "Do you have any advice for me about leaving Hogwarts that doesn't involve it, sir?"

"Not I." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again, this time at something behind Neville. "No more than I have said, at any rate."

Neville turned to find Professors McGonagall and Sprout standing there. The Headmistress cleared her throat gently. "Pardon us, Albus. Neville, might we have a word with you before your departure?"

Startled as much by the familiarity as their presence, Neville could only nod.

"Goodbye, Mr. Longbottom," said Dumbledore, making his way to the edge of the frame as Professor McGonagall conjured a chair out from her desk for Neville to sit in. "Though not forever, I expect. Perhaps there will be time for us to get to know each other after all."

Neville looked from Dumbledore to Professor Sprout's knowing expression to the other portraits, who seemed to be watching him with a new respect, and smiled. "Perhaps there will."


End file.
